glittering, golden
by Dessers
Summary: Today's the day. The second of May. The worst day of the year for them. The day when everyone wears black, and the adults pretends not to cry, tears glittering on their cheeks. For Morning Lilies's Forgotten Family Ties Challenge.


**Hi there, loves!**

**This story is for the wonderful Morning Lilies's challenge_ Forgotten Family Ties_. My pairing was Hermione/Albus Severus and my prompt word is _glittering._I'm so sorry for cutting it so close to the deadline! I've just been busy with life and such...**

**Anyways, I hope you all like it! Reviews are appreciated.  
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><p>Today's the day. The second of May. The worst day of the year for them.<p>

The day when everyone wears black, and the adults pretends not to cry, tears _glittering_ on their cheeks.

The day when all the kids pretend to understand what mommy and daddy lost, knowing how they'll never completely okay.

The day when they act like they're honoring heroes, yet everyone feels like such _losers._

They listen to war stories, speeches_, _and memorials for the dead. Famous war heroes get up and speak. Everyone clap at right times, cries at the right times, and it seems so rehearsed to Albus, it's sad.

They hold the service out by Dumbledore's tomb, over-looking the Black Lake. The dark lakes _glitters_ and there's fragile, beautiful flowers blooming of the shore. It seems like the wrong place to be holding a service like this. Everything's alive and new and gold, _glittering_ like youth. It isn't the right place to hold a memorial for thousands of brave, but very dead witches and wizards.

Truly, if Albus being totally honest with himself, he doesn't want to be watching this memorial service. He doesn't want to remember. He doesn't want to remember that people died in the halls he walks in, he doesn't want to remember people were tortured his his classrooms.

Albus Potter wants to forget.

But he'll never say so aloud. Because that makes him sound like a such awful, awful person. So he locks these thoughts in the deeps corners of his mind.

Albus sits in the front row, sandwiched between his sniffling Aunt Hermione and his cousin, and best friend, Rose. She's squeezing Scorpius Malfoy's hand to a pulp, and he thinks it's weird that they're all here, right now. A Malfoy, a Potter, and a Weasley. All best friends. Well, obviously, Rose and Scorpius are a little more than just best friends.

His frizzy-hair aunt is dabbing her eyes with a tissue, trying not to cry any harder. Aunt Hermione has never been his favorite his aunt. She is bookish, over-bearing, and perpetually worried. Not to say he doesn't love her, because he does. He just doesn't love her more than the rest of his aunts. Albus loves all of his family, because he's acutely aware of lucky he is to have such a loud, over-affectionate family. He's not that close to all of them and he has more family members than he can count, because his family multiplies like bunnies.

But regardless, he loves everyone because they're his family and that's what you do. It's a matter of principle.

Albus thinks it's weird in a way, because she's always been a constant, ever-present fixture in his life. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron are his dad's best friends - his Scorpius and Rose - not to mention actual blood-relatives. And out of all of his cousins he's closest to Rose and Hugo.

But his aunt's always been busy with her children, and even James at times, to be all that concerned about him. That's okay, though. Albus has always been a bit a wallflower, content to let others take on the spotlight.

As everyone files back to the castle, something make Albus stay. He doesn't want to leave this place_ glittering_ and golden. But a intangible misery clutches everything. The sadness, the pain - it wraps itself around everything and everyone, weighing them down. It makes everything bleaker, but this place is still bright and beautiful.

It's _glittering_ like glass, disguised as diamonds. This place is like glass because it's sharp and prickly. The fact that people died here, their blood staining the lake's shores changes everything. People died here, fighting for what they believed in.

Albus doubts he could ever be that brave, that good.

Aunt Hermione is standing next to him quietly, her eyes locked on the plaque. She looks pretty, in a older way, _glittering_ in the sunlight. Her frizzy brown curls look more golden, and it's remind him in a weird way of Rose.

"Is it weird?" Aunt Hermione asks, her question sudden, "To see your name up there. Listed as dead."

"Yeah, it's weird. I guess it's worse for James and Lily." He says, his eyes finding _James Potter_ and_ Lily Potter. _

"I always wondered why Harry and Ginny named the three of you how they did. I mean, of course, it's very admiral. They're honoring the deceased by having their children carry on you namesake's legacy, and I respect that sentiment greatly, I do." Aunt Hermione trails off from her ramble, "... But it must be such a... _burden_ for all of you."

Albus awkwardly clears his throat, because he hates talking about his dead namesakes, "Is that why you didn't name Rose and Hugo after anyone?"

"Mostly." She nods, thoughtfully, "I didn't want them to have such high expectations thrust on them."

He can't help but chuckle, "Hugo still hates his name."

"Hugo is a perfectly lovely name!" His Aunt squeaks, indignantly. "It's absolutely classic!"

Albus tries to diffuse the the untouchable tension with a half hearted joke. Because when you grow up like him you learn how to tell jokes."Yeah... if you're a dead, angst-ridden French poet or something, sure it is."

"And I thought George was the funny one..." Aunt Hermione rolls her eyes, her arms crossed.

He smiles slightly, "Uh, Aunt Hermione?"

"Hmmm?" She asks.

Albus clears his throat, "I, uh, think it's a good thing you didn't name Hugo and Rose after anyone. It's probably easier for them. They can be themselves, on some level. Make their own name. It's hard. For James, Fred, Lily, and I because everyone expects so much out of us. Out of our names."

"You're a good kid Albus."


End file.
